


Not Alone

by Gadhar



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Derek being all lovey and helpful, Established Relationship, M/M, PTSD attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gadhar/pseuds/Gadhar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the life a doctor at Seattle Grace mirrors his life as a doctor during his soldier days. Sometimes it drudges up the past and there's really nothing he can do to stop it. Sometimes he needs help. But when you're trapped inside your own mind, it's hard to remember you're not alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Alright first of all- PTSD attack ahead. If there's like a trigger or something (I don't think there is but hey, what do I know?) then be warned. Secondly, I'm totally making up this Army experience for Owen, I'm sure he's seen plenty of soldiers die though unfortunately. Also I don't really know the exact experience of what a PTSD attack is like so I just winged it. I feel like Derek would be a calming presence though.
> 
> I own nothing but plot.

_Adrenaline._

_The hum and thrum of it, the way it washes through your system, flooding your senses._

_It's a drug. Number one of choice of thrillseekers all over._

_My number one choice._

_You can't do the job without it. When there's people dying all around you, when you're their savior, a savior of many- adrenaline is what allows you to do it. It gives your brain the juice it needs to cope with all the stimulus, to solve all the problems._

_When you're the one thing blocking the door to death, you have to be ready, but you have to be calm._

_I wasn't. I lost it._

_And for me it was over in an hour._

xxx

His mad dash for the bathroom left many staring at him wildly. He could feel their eyes burrowing into his skull. They felt accusing even though he knew they weren't. They didn't blame him, they couldn't. Patients died every day. Soldiers died everyday.

One hour to the OR.

_One hour to the LZ._

One injured patient.

_One injured soldier._

Neither made it through.

But he did.

Owen dived to a stall, his knees buckling just in time. His stomach turned in on itself, his head swimming, nausea taking over as the day's food ended up in the porcelain bowl. Owen retched for a few more seconds, or minutes, maybe even an hour- time was lost on him, memories of the past in it's place.

_Blood spattered his face as the soldier below him convulsed, eyes rolling backing his head."Whoa, hey! Hey! Stay with me!" His words sounded unconvincing in his own head, but right now he had to stop the bleeding._

_"You, keep him awake." Owen growled at a wide-eyed, baby of a soldier. The kid wasn't even a real man yet, 18 or not, he shouldn't be here even if he is needed._

"Owen?"

_The question floated through his mind, vague and quiet, like a ghost. His eyes flicked up from the soldier, brief enough to see the battlefield around him._

_Owen clipped off an artery, trying to repair the soldier's torn aorta. The kid was going to die, right in front of him, right here._

"Owen, can you hear me?"

_He couldn't let this soldier die, he just couldn't. Owen scrambled furiously, stitching and cutting and taping._

"Owen! Owen listen to me."

_"I can save him. I can save him!" There were hands gripping him from behind, pulling him away. Owen struggled against them, tearing off what he could. Something collided with his elbow and he heard a stiff 'ow.'_

_Owen went back to his work, he'd save this kid or die trying._

_The soldier stopped breathing and Owen grabbed a knife, readying himself to perform a tracheotomy._

_An arm wrapped around his throat then, a hand gripping his wrist and stilling the knife._ "Owen, stop!"

_"No, I can save him, let me go!"_

"No you can't, Owen. He's dead!"

_"No. I-I can save him. I have time."_

"No you don't. He's dead Owen, gone. He's been dead."

_"W-what are you talking about?" Owen's mind swirled, a wave of nausea crashing into him, something wasn't right._

"Owen, you're not really there. You're not in the Army anymore."

_"No! I- why won't you let me save him?"_

"Owen listen, it's Derek. Remember? The soldier's dead, gone. You told me that yourself remember?"

The soldier started to fade, like a light dying out. He melted into the ground as the ground faded away into white. White tile. White washed walls. Owen wanted to yell for the soldier to come back but he couldn't. His throat had closed and he choked, the arm around his throat loosening slightly.

"I...what's going on? What- Derek? Derek!" Owen felt the panic rising, heard his voice screech and break as though it came from someone else.

Something at his back, warm and solid, moved. Slipping out from behind him, leaving cool tile in it's place. Then Derek's face appeared, solid and smiling against the blurry white that shaped itself into something solid and recognizable. "Owen, I'm right here okay? I'm right here."

"Derek I..." Owen didn't even know what to say. He looked around wildly, his brain searching desperately for some sign to tell him what had happened.

"Owen, calm down okay? You're alright. You're at the hospital, Seattle Grace, in the bathroom. Do you remember?" Something clicked in Owen's mind and the destroyed puzzle his thoughts had become started to piece themselves back together.

"I...I remember. The patient, torn aorta. He- he died, bled out. The bathroom, I- I couldn't breathe and I felt sick and..." _And what?_ He couldn't remember. He had been in the stall and now he was in the main area of the bathroom, near the sinks. And Derek was with him.

Something cold pressed against his forehead, cooling the burning skin. It cleared the fog in his head. Cleared so much in fact, Owen looked down and saw all the blood in perfect detail. The way it was splattered all over him. "Derek what happened? The blood-"

"Don't look at the blood. Don't." Derek's hand grabbed his chin, forcing him to look up. "Look at me. Just look at me." Then one of Derek's hands splayed across his face, fingers stretching to hold the cold towel to his head as a thumb kept his face still. Derek's other hand removed the plastic coverings he was wearing to keep his scrubs clean. Even with his eyes staring into Derek's, Owen could see how the coverings were caked in blood.

"Hey! Owen, up here." Derek's fingers snapped in front of him and Owen blinked slowly. He hadn't realized he zoned out. "You with me?" Derek asked quietly, almost whispering as though he was afraid of startling Owen.

Owen took a deep breath to calm his pounding heart. "Yeah, yeah. PTSD attack right? An episode?"

"Yeah just a small one, don't worry."

"Don't worry?" Owen asked incredulously, his temper rising as his eyes narrowed. "Don't worry? Derek are you kidding me? I- I can't live like this! Half the time I can't even look at a patient without seeing a massacre!"

Derek's hand cupped the side of his face, warm and soft, thumb wiping away shallow tears Owen didn't know had fallen."Alright, alright. Bad choice of words, my fault. You're right. You're alright."

"No. No I'm not." His voice cracked and it was painful. He couldn't do this, he couldn't not live in high alert, he couldn't believe he was safe. From the beginning he doubted he could do it, doubted he could adapt. And as the days went by, he was proven right.

Derek pressed a kiss to his forehead, wrapping Owen in a hug he could not return. "Yes you are. You're good. As good as you can be and that's the best you can expect. You just need to get better. And you can't do it alone."

"Derek, I can't do this. I can't."

"You can."

"No. I'm tired, exhausted and I just..." Derek shifted, one hand always touching Owen to ensure he was still there as Derek moved to the floor next to Owen. He pulled Owen down then, easily beating the resistance Owen put up. He made sure Owen's head rested comfortably in his lap before running his fingers through Owen's hair.

"If you're tired, sleep. If you need to talk, I'm here. Stop acting like you're alone in this. Stop running and hiding in the bathroom." Owen went to protest, his mind stuck in the cynical. But Derek tugged sharply on his hair, silencing him. So Owen relaxed, feeling weeks of weariness hit him as he wrapped his arms around Derek's waist. Something about Derek and his annoying persistence made Owen feel safe. "You're not alone."

"I know."

 


End file.
